Blueberry Pie
by hairsprayheart
Summary: The Piemaker marveled at the resemblance between his life, and his livelihood. Pushing Daisies Twoshot. ChuckxNed. Character analysis-type thing. There are spoilers, and a little bit of AU stuff too. Hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Blueberry Pie

_The Piemaker marveled at the uncanny resemblance between his life, and his livelihood._

The Piemaker marveled at the uncanny resemblance between his life, and his livelihood. In actuality, it was more probable that since his whole life was built around pies now, the two had just merged together. Or, maybe, there was no real similarity at all and his recent late hours at work were getting to him.

But in any case, he found it fascinating that one specific moment, or even a person, in his life could be compared to a pie he was baking or just thinking about baking.

First, there was himself. Apple pie. The Ol' Reliable of pies. Simple. Classic. The staple of all family gatherings, the symbol of southern hospitality, and the sort of pie, if you had a pie-baking sort of mother, that your mother baked. It was not flashy, or new. It would be good just about any way you could prepare it, but it was _best_ on its own. Accompanied by a little something, like vanilla ice cream, maybe, it was simply perfection. It was most common during fall, when the apples were ripe, and school was in session, and the holidays seemed just around the corner (even though it would still be a few months). It was the pie that made you smile just a little when you took a bite. It was just what you expected. It played by the rules. Sure, if you added a little extra cinnamon, or maybe even a little dollop of whipped cream, it could go out on a limb. But for the most part, it was plain and familiar and loveable.

Then there was Olive. Oh, good and faithful Olive. Sweet Olive. Yearning Olive. Perky, sometimes wild, Olive. She would be strawberry. You could dress it up or down anyway you liked, but you had a feeling that it would always be there. It made you think of summer, and sunshine, and sweetness. Some people don't like strawberry (for reasons Ned did not understand). He supposed that it could be a little overbearing sometimes. The flavor was strong, after all. But it still seemed wrong not to have it, even if you could not eat it. (He could understand that.) It was very good, but it always seemed like it could always use a little something else. Ned slaved over this, but as he usually couldn't eat the pies he made, he could not tell. Somebody else normally had to give him their opinion. For this reason, strawberry pie frustrated him. But if he ever had to bake a pie for a friend, it would have to be strawberry.

Emerson would probably be lemon meringue. When you got down to it, it would seem like it was bitter. But add in the fluff and sweetness – that was what it was really all about. Sometimes you wanted no part of it. It looked a little intimidating. But at the same time, all that crème was so inviting, you just wanted to shove your face into it and profusely thank its maker. It made you think of spring and new beginnings. It made you remember, with its slightly melancholy taste, about what you had lost, too. It was a thoughtful pie, and those thoughts, it spoke. Within all those layers of goodness, there had to be a secret or two that _wasn't_ being spoken. It was smart and snappy; it could sweet talk you and surprise you all of a sudden with its lemony-ness. It all really depended on how you looked at it. If you only thought of the "lemon" part, you probably would not like it. But the "meringue" was the important stuff. Lemon meringue was many things, but mostly, it was just good.

The last part of the unusual little group Ned had come to know (and, well, love) was Chuck. He sighed. He didn't really know what she was. He couldn't define her. He thought about it a few moments before moving on.

Aunt Lily was pumpkin. It was nice at the holidays, but other than that, you got tired of it and really didn't want it around. It was only really good with some nice whipped cream to sweeten it up and balance out its spices. Sometimes someone would bring it up out of season and you would want to throw it across the room. But when you wanted it, it was very nice, and just eating it reminded you of all the things you had and were thankful for.

Aunt Vivian… peach pie. All sweetness. It was a muted sort of flavor, that you had to try to uncover yourself if you wanted it. If you ate a slice right after you ate a slice of a different kind of pie, the peach would be overshadowed. You would still taste the old pie. That's how soft peach was. It wasn't in your face. Well, sometimes it was. But for the most part, it was the nice, gentle pie that you'd want to eat if you had just had a good cry. It was a hug pie.

His father, when he thought about him, reminded him of a banana cream. Dull and forgettable, but in the back of your mind, you have at least one good memory about it. Once it was gone, it was gone, and you weren't sure when you would taste it again.

Then he thought of someone else he had not thought of for a while: Dilly Balsam. She was like raspberry pie. (Messy. Vulgar. Offensive. _Very_ in your face. He did not like raspberry pie, anymore. It had a strong flavor that wasn't making any apologies. It was almost fake, it was so full of flavor. And it wasn't very sweet. It washed out everything else you had eaten previously. It came in and stole those flavors away. It was an evil pie…

At this moment, Chuck strolled through the door. Ned's face immediately melted into a smile at the jingle of the little bell in the doorway. Even in her sunglasses and scarf-covered head, she looked beautiful. Delicious, Ned added as an afterthought, his face suddenly flushing with guilt and longing.

"What?" Chuck asked sweetly, taking a spot on one of the stools at the counter and spinning in it.

"Just you," Ned replied, with an unintentional sigh. "So, erm, what can I get for you?"

"Oh, whatever. I really just came in to see you," was the playful response. She leaned forward until her face was almost touching his.

Ned bit his lip to restrain himself and laid his palm flat on the cold counter. "Chuck," he said, his voice almost a growl. "You know how dangerous that is."

"I brought plastic wrap," she tempted him, pulling back.

"Here ya go," Olive chirped, whirling by and plopping a plate of pie down in front of Chuck, effectively separating them. She was humming a song as she went.

"Mmm. This looks delicious. Right out of the oven," Chuck noted, watching steam rise in soft curls from her plate. She lifted a forkful to her mouth and closed her eyes, smiling. "Heavenly."

"What is it?" Ned asked, eager to distract himself from his thoughts. Without thinking, he produced a fork of his own from an apron pocket and quickly took a bite.

"Careful," Chuck said, at the last minute.

Ned's eyes widened suddenly, and he was about to spit it out, but the fruit did not die. It was just hot.

And then he had another thought.

Blueberry pie was his most favorite pie. He wasn't sure why. It was unusual. It was a surprise: you thought it was cool, but when you took a bite, the little blueberries were still hot. They burned your tongue, until all you could taste was blueberry. And he realized that the reason he was okay with a blueberry burn was because it reminded him of Chuck.

When she came into his life, it was unexpected. She was wild and dangerous and familiar, all at the same time. She had branded his heart and now she was all he could think of.

"What happened?" Chuck whispered.

"I burned my-thelf," Ned lisped back.

"Does it hurt terribly?"

"No."

"So… it wasn't… _dead_?"

Ned shook his head.

"It should have been. It-it's been in the storage room, for over a year." He thought furiously. "I remember bringing those berries back to life…"

"_Ned_."

"Oh, no. No no no no."

"Oh, please, Ned. Maybe this is another rule. I'm a special case. Me and Digby and those berries are the only one. You haven't tried it."

"I don't like to change the rules. I like the old ones. They keep me safe," Ned blurted. "They brought me you and I don't want you taken away."

"Alive again for a minute, someone else dies. Alive again for a year, and you never die again?"

"Stop it!" Ned shouted, slamming his palm onto the counter. The others in the restaurant stared. He ducked his head and everyone returned to their pies. He lowered his voice. "Don't say that. Don't even think about it. I won't have it."

"Ned, I have to know. Please, touch me."

"I can't," Ned whispered, his voice breaking. "I can't lose you, again."

"Well, _I_ can't take this anymore. I'd rather die than go another day without touching you," she declared, and she pressed her face to his.

Every fiber of Ned's being was screaming. This was so wrong, so very wrong. His life was about to change forever. His burned tongue felt like it was on fire. Everything was a symphony of blueberries. He inwardly cringed, waiting for the spark, and the hum…

But it never came.

"Chuck?" he murmured, against her lips. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes were dancing and her cheeks were flushed. "Oh, Ned, I've never felt better!"

"Don't… don't touch me again," he cautioned. "Maybe it was a fluke."

"You're not getting away with that," Chuck responded, her lips meeting his once again.

"Oh, don't," Ned groaned, turning his face away, this time more out of restraint than out of fear. He could see people beginning to stare, once again, out of the corner of his eye. "I should get you home before you cause a scene… or, what if, there are more numbers and rules and something _happens_..."

"Third time's the charm, then." She stood on her tiptoes and stamped a kiss on his forehead.

"God, I love you," he mumbled into her neck.

"What do I taste like?" Chuck wanted to know.

His lips curved upwards in a smile.

"Blueberries."


	2. Chapter 2

Blueberry Pie

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fic

Chapter Two

**AN: Yeah, I **_**had**_** to make a second chapter. This one is not very good but it contains merciless fluff. It's almost **_**suffocating**_** fluff. Like cotton batting all around you.**

There were many ways in which Charlotte Charles was like a blueberry. Well, aside from her color, that is. She was bold and fresh. She was wild and messy. She was just the sort of thing that, when you longed for something that was neither too sweet nor too bitter, you craved.

And if she was a blueberry, Ned dearly wished he could be the crust. It seemed that the Fickle Finger of Fate had cut them a break, for now he could hold her just like the first layer of pie holds fruit – they could touch, as they had not touched in twenty years.

Shrieking and laughing, Lonely Tourist Charlotte Charles pulled the Pie Maker down the street. The reason for all this carrying on was that she was no longer lonely, and she had a feeling that she would never be so again.

It had begun back in the Pie Hole, only moments prior, when they had discovered a new rule.

Ned had decided that perhaps he liked change, after all. And thanked God for new rules.

"Ned, take me home," pleaded Chuck. "If you don't, I'm going to make a scene."

It was tempting. The facts were these: Ned and Chuck were deeply, irrevocably in love. They had been for a long time. Over a year. Maybe even longer, though it had been more innocent then. And for a year they had yearned for each other. And now, the moment had come when they could actually _have_ each other.

It was enough just to hold each other. It was enough just knowing that they _could_ now hold each other at all. They were in no hurry for heavier things. For now, it seemed as though they had all eternity together.

At the slightest hesitation on Ned's part, of course Chuck started making a scene. He hadn't even been hesitating intentionally. Just thinking. And then the scene was made. Chuck started half-screaming, half-singing a random, just-made-up song about blueberries and heaven and whipped cream and goodness knows what else. Ned put his finger to her lips (oh, how delightful that felt!) as they had already attracted quite a few stares.

"Can I have a third birthday? I want it to be today."

She kept babbling on in a similar style to this the entire way back to Ned's apartment. He just smiled and let himself be dragged along in her wake. She buoyed him with her exuberance.

"We should do something to celebrate this day. Since I already technically have two birthdays, maybe it can be _our_ birthday." Surely, anniversary seemed too formal for this reckless happiness.

Ned grinned. "I like that you said _our_."

He fumbled with his keys as he unlocked the door to his apartment. Everything was rushed. They had waited so long for this moment it seemed as though it could not come fast enough. Yes, maybe they were in a hurry, after all. For what, he didn't dare hope or think about. He blushed furiously just thinking of it. He kept hearing Chuck's anxious humming and foot-tapping behind him until at last the door was open. She practically barreled him over trying to get inside. Almost like a dog.

As if he, too, had sensed the change, Digby, the real dog, also craved Ned's attention. He nearly leaped out the door into Ned's arms. Even though his own curse had been broken long ago, his master had not known it, so the occasion was special anyway. It was the first time he had been touched by his master in over twenty years. Digby panted like he had never panted before, his tongue lolled out in bliss.

"We're home we're home we're home," Chuck sang out as she crossed the threshold, no commas necessary. She was acting so childish that Ned had to laugh. She was still holding his hand as though she would never let go, and perhaps she wouldn't.

"This is a momentous occasion," Ned announced. "We should make a pie. What kind would you like?"

"Well, we just had blueberry," Chuck reminded him.

"I know, but sometimes it's nice when things stay the same." He paused and hastily added, "Well, sometimes it's nice when they don't, too."

"Oh, Ned. You're always so indecisive." She gave him a sweet, chaste kiss to keep him from talking any longer.

"_I'm_ indecisive? You… with your cake, and your pies…" He was easily distracted by the continual contact of her skin with his.

"I'm not a cake person anymore," Chuck told him, her voice somewhat muffled against his cheek as she kissed him there also.

He tensed unconsciously as thoughts of her father reappeared in his mind. He did not like cake. Cake reminded him of traumatic childhood experiences… where he had been the only child at his own birthday party, where he was forced to go from being baked pies for birthdays to eating cake after his mother died. Cake was too happy and in-your-face. And it was just so cliché. It always got in the way of pie. Hmph. Stupid cake. He hated cake. He was glad he didn't have to deal with cake anymore—

"Ned," Chuck whispered, to recapture his attention.

"Hmm?" He looked at her from under half-lidded eyes.

"Are you tired?"

He shook his head swiftly to rid himself of the appearance of sleepiness, knowing what _that_ might lead to. He was feeling suddenly bashful.

"Are you hungry?"

He pressed his lips together. "Maybe." His eyes brightened. "Why? Do you have something for me to try?"

Chuck nodded solemnly.

"Close your eyes and open your mouth," she suggested. When Ned obliged, he felt something alive thrust in. He opened his eyes with a start to find that it was Chuck's tongue.

His shock wore off and he relaxed instantly. He didn't know what he was doing, but it was something of a comfort that Chuck didn't, either. He had heard, as a teenager, of "French kissing". It always sounded disgusting and slobbery and not romantic at all. Well, that was probably because it was only part of his wild roommates' escapades away from the all boys' school into the all girls' school. But this was not a wild escapade. (All right, maybe it was.) It certainly did not feel disgusting. Standing there with Chuck, what it felt like was _right_.

Chuck pulled away, content, her eyes flashing mischievously.

"That's better than pie," Ned said quickly, swallowing hard. "Much better."

The lack of a strong female figure in Ned's life for almost twenty years had made him socially inept, particularly around girls. But this woman was the strongest he had ever seen. She was also the wisest, wittiest, and most beautiful…

"Will you stop talking already?" Chuck snapped impatiently, wrapping her arms around him to draw him closer and giving him a peck on the chest.

Oh, dear. Had he said that _out loud_? His mortification was short-lived, though. Maybe she had taken it as a compliment. (Hopefully.)

"Sorry," he mumbled into her hair. She was quite a bit shorter than him, he realized. It was nice - like he had to protect her, or something.

She looked up at him, grinning. "Isn't this fun?"

Ned nodded dumbly.

"Sorry – I know I said not to talk, but oh well."

He would have rolled his eyes if they had not been so fixed on the way her lips moved when she spoke.

"You're looking at me like you've seen a ghost," Chuck told him laughingly.

"You're not a ghost. You're an angel."

It took a lot to make Chuck blush, but that did it.

"Oh, Ned."

She snuggled up to him.

It was enough just to stand there, holding in each other, in love. All thoughts of everything else floated away from Ned's mind like clouds drift through the endless sky.

It was a dream. Everything was a dream, as Chuck led him gently to their room, where the two beds suddenly seemed so small, and they settled under the covers of his, and she gave his cheek butterfly kisses and kissed his nose. It was a dream when she touched her foot to his and giggled for no reason. It was a dream when he closed his eyes and knew when he opened them that she would still be there and that this really _wasn't_ a dream. She whispered things against him and he gave her a little smile in return, and her arms enveloped him until he thought he would be smothered by her love.

Life was bittersweet – he had Chuck, like he had wanted for so long. But he knew so many others were not so lucky. For an instant, he was guilty – maybe life was a balance, and his happiness was subtracted from someone else's. But then he looked at Chuck again, and thought that maybe it was worth it.

Life was bittersweet. Like a blueberry.


End file.
